by Janet Dailey
“No.” Sally set her coffee cup on the table. The blustery, cold night had brought in few supper customers, and the drinkers wouldn’t arrive until later. “It looked like construction equipment—those big earth movers, that kind of thing. They must be going to build something.”
“It could have been road machinery,” Chase suggested thoughtfully and cut into his steak. Headlights flashed through the large glass windows of the tavern-restaurant.
“That’s probably what it was,” Sally agreed and watched him fork a bite of meat into his mouth. “How’s the steak? All right?”
“Perfect, as always.” He smiled at her. His expression was warm and affectionate as a cold draft of air blew in when the door was opened. Chase glanced up idly and went still at the sight of Maggie striding across the room, smiling too cheerfully. He recovered quickly. “Maggie?” There was a faint question in his voice, a touch of wariness.
“Surprised?” She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, glancing too briefly at the auburn-haired woman with him. There was a flash of fire in her green eyes, almost daring him to say anything, when she turned her gaze back to him.
“You know I am,” he countered smoothly.
“I decided to join you for dinner tonight and enjoy someone else’s cooking for a change,” Maggie announced. “Besides, it will give our newlyweds some time alone.”
Sally didn’t lose her look of serenity, although her glance did run uncertainly to Chase for a second. “What would you like me to fix you, Maggie?”
“I’ll have the same as Chase, only make my steak rare,” she ordered, then added when Sally rose, “But come back and join us.”
After Sally had brought Maggie’s food, she refilled her coffee cup and sat down at the table. It didn’t take Chase long to realize what Maggie was doing there. The longer he watched her action, the more amused and proud he became. In her own subtle way, Maggie was claiming him as her property and warning Sally to keep her hands off. It was all very ladylike, but the amiability was all on the surface. Underneath, she was fighting mad.
When it came time to leave, Chase spared a moment’s pity for the quiet-natured Sally, who had become even more reserved. But she had long known the score, and tonight she had been outclassed from the start.
As they were leaving, two Triple C riders walked in. “Give me your car keys, Maggie,” Chase ordered.
“Why?” She took them out of her purse.
“Grady!” He called back one of the riders and tossed the keys to him. “My wife’s riding back with me. See that her car gets to the ranch—in one piece.” Maggie made no protest.
“Yes, sir.” The cowboy shoved them into his pocket and ambled for the pool table where his buddy waited.
His arm was on her shoulders as they walked out of the tavern. A chuckle started in his throat, gradually developing into a hearty sound.
“What’s so funny?” Her breath came out in an angry puff, vaporized by the cold temperatures.
“You,” he declared.
“I’m glad you find me so amusing.” She was anything but glad as she moved out from under his curving arm and hurried stiffly down the steps to his pickup.
Chase caught up with her at the truck and turned her around before she could open the door. His look was warm and amused, undeterred by the snap in her eyes.
“You were jealous, weren’t you?” he challenged knowingly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied curtly and tried to twist out of his hold, but he merely rocked her deeper into the circle of his arms, bundling her as close as the thicknesses of their coats would permit.
“You had no reason to be,” Chase informed her, not feeling the nipping cold. “Not even when we were having our hardest times. Oh, I admit I had a few thoughts in Sally’s direction, but I couldn’t forget you. I’d given you my word—my promise to love only you.”
“Then why—?” Maggie shut her mouth on the question, not finishing it because she didn’t want to admit she had been jealous and she didn’t want to know why he had continually sought Sally’s company for so long.
Blood surged exultantly through his veins with a young man’s intoxication as Chase fell youthfully in love with her all over again. His fancies were wanting to sing and shout it out. All his senses were open to the excitement of the feeling, its heady flavors and sweet sounds. This proud, feisty lady was his kind of woman; none other could ever satisfy him, and none ever had.
“Why did I keep on stopping by to see her?” Chase knew the question she hadn’t wanted to ask, strangely attuned to her thinking when he hadn’t been for so long. “She offered comfort. And I was afraid I was losing you.”
“Losing me?” There was blankness and confusion in her face at the implication she had somehow stopped loving him.
“I’m not sure I can explain.” His mouth crooked ruefully. “Maybe it’s your sophistication. I don’t know. But I saw less and less of Maggie and more of the cultured Elizabeth, so cool and contained. I thought, when Ty went to college, you were wishing for your old life. That maybe you regretted . . . until you came charging into the café tonight, ready to do battle to keep your man.” He grew tensely serious. “I am your man, aren’t I?”
“Yes.” She was so happy she hurt.
When he kissed her long and deeply, their renewed passion flowed freely. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and strained on tiptoes, holding on to this feeling they’d almost lost.
Their lips parted, but they stayed in the embrace, each breathing hard and smiling a little at this giddy rush of young love reborn. His hands moved over her back, vaguely irritated with the coat and the cold when he wanted nothing to interfere with this special closeness.
“Maggie, my love—my only love—let’s go home,” he insisted huskily.
She laughed, love rippling from her throat. “Oh, God, yes.”
16
Heat shimmers made waves in the straight stretch of highway and distorted the buildings ahead. Speed-zone signs were posted on the outskirts, the first hint of change. Ty slowed his pickup as he approached the town, noting the changes four short years since he’d married Tara had brought.
Blue Moon no longer had the look of a half-dead ghost town, crumbling on the roadside. The abandoned, run-down buildings with their broken backs and bulging sides that had stood forlornly by the two-lane, dying slowly for so many decades, were gone—bulldozed down and their rubble carted away for burial. In their place were mobile homes, the weed-choked yards cut down so children could play.
Three vehicles were already parked next to the gas pumps when Ty pulled in. One of them bore the insignia of Dy-Corp Coal, a subsidiary of Dy-Corp Ltd. Blue Moon was a company town, peopled mainly by the heavy machinery operators who manned the strip-mining equipment and their families.
Outsiders were eyed with curiosity, and Ty received his share of looks when he stepped out of the truck. Four years had made some changes in him as well. Muscles had filled out his chest and shoulders; he was a tall, imposing figure of a man. The sun and wind had toughened his face and etched craggy lines into his features. The deep-set eyes were more often hooded now, less expressive of his thoughts and feelings. And the black brush of a mustache added to his look of hard virility.
With those long strides that never seemed hurried, Ty left the truck and entered the store. The grocery section had been enlarged to carry more items, which left the post-office window crowded into a small corner in the rear. A couple of wives were shopping and trying to keep their children cor-raled.
As Ty approached the caged window of the post office, he heard voices and recognized them as belonging to two longtime residents of Blue Moon. The postal area also doubled as the private office for the store and station.
“Calder ain’t gonna be happy when he hears about this,” a man’s voice declared, and Ty’s steps slowed.
“Let him be upset,” a second said. “He can rant and rave all he wants about protectin�
� the land and not damaging the environment. It’s fine-sounding if you can afford it. But he never talks about the good things that come with this strip-mining.”
“I know. Anna and I just about decided we were going to have to close down the store.” It was Lew Michels, who owned the dry-goods and hardware store across the street. “We just weren’t making any money until all these coal families moved into town. Now there’s a good chance we’ll be able to sell the business and have a nice nest egg for our retirement.”
“This town was dying. All the young folks were leaving ’cause there wasn’t any jobs for them. Now there’s work and new blood comin’ in. A man’s got a chance to keep his head above water. Calder never did no more than throw us a bone from time to time. I say Dy-Corp is the best thing that ever happened to this town—and the land and Calder be damned.”
“It’s progress,” Michels said. “Calder’s gotta accept it. With the regulations they have on strip-mining, the land has got to be reclaimed. The president said so himself—it’s in the national interest to develop our own resources. And we’ve got enough coal in Montana to heat the whole country.”
When Ty appeared at the barred window, the talking abruptly ceased. “I think you have a package for my wife,” he said.
“I sure do.” Emmett Fedderson came to his feet, looking uncomfortable. “Just step around to the door and I’ll give it to you.”
The cardboard-boxed package was passed to him. Ty hefted it under his arm and headed out of the store, the conversation he’d overheard lingering in his thoughts. He’d known feelings were running high on the issue of strip-mining coal, but he hadn’t realized people were taking sides. Perhaps because he didn’t share his father’s passion on the issue. The older his father got, the more he resisted changing with the times.
As Ty climbed into the truck, he wondered what it was that his father wasn’t going to be happy to hear. Dinner tonight was bound to be an awkward affair if the news turned out to be as unpleasant as Fedderson had indicated. Dyson was at the ranch visiting Tara and checking on the coal operation. It made for some strained evenings.
Seconds after Ty had walked in the door of The Homestead, he heard his father’s angry voice ringing out from the den. “Dammit, you find out!” A telephone receiver was slammed down.
With a degree of resignation, Ty headed for the open doors of the study. There was no more wondering about what had happened. He was about to find out. But his mother was there ahead of him to ask the questions.
“What happened, Chase?” She bit her lip with concern.
His hand was a taut fist on the desktop, his head down and averted. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered. “All that work—all that money and effort spent to draft one of the toughest pieces of legislation to regulate surface mining—and what happens? The Interior Department in Washington has ordered the state of Montana to conform to federal regulations!”
Chase Calder had lobbied hard for the passage of that bill in the Montana legislature. It was a bitter blow.
“Dyson’s behind this,” his father announced grimly. “And I’d lay odds that Bulfert’s sold out to him.”
It was the suspicion of double-dealing that had infuriated his father more than the dilution of the mining bill, Ty realized. The clash with Dyson had never been personal. Each had applied pressure to stop the other, but on a business level. Losing to Dyson wasn’t so bad, but the possible defection of the senator was not easy for his father to take. It was that old code surfacing that said, when you took a man’s pay, you took his side. If a man rode for the brand, he fought for it, too.
The phone rang, and it was impatiently grabbed by his father. Now that he had learned the latest development, there was no more reason for Ty to stay in the room. He left, heading for the stairs.
“What are you doing up here?” Ty was slightly surprised to see Tara when he entered the suite of rooms on the second floor. Lately she had spent little time in them, complaining that they were too confining.
“Where else would I be?” she retorted irritably and rose from the damask-covered lounge chair.
Ty chose to ignore the remark. “I picked up that package for you.”
“Put it anywhere,” Tara said with disinterest. “It’s just those boots I ordered.”
“Maybe you should try them on,” he suggested.
“Not now.” She wandered to the window. “I wish your father would build a swimming pool or tennis courts. He certainly can afford it. At least then there would be something to do around here.”
“This is a working ranch, Tara—not a resort,” Ty responded with heavy patience. “If you want to go swimming, Cat is probably at the river. Why don’t you join her?”
“I don’t like to swim in the river.” There had been a time when she enjoyed it, but that had been early in their marriage. Since the horse herd had been established and they had ceased traveling so much in search of that foundation stock, Tara had gradually become bored with the monotony of the ranch routine. She swung around to face him. “Let’s do something this afternoon, Ty,” she urged, a desperate edge to the smile she gave him.
“I was just on my way out to check on some possible sites for the new feedlot operation. Ride along with me,” he invited with a slow smile and dumped the package on the sofa to cross the room to her. “You used to come with me whenever I went out riding. I don’t think you’ve ridden your horse in over a month.”
She turned to the window and lifted the curtain to look out. There was tension in her slim, motionless form. “Once you leave these buildings, there’s nothing out there but land. No matter how much you ride, you go nowhere and you get nowhere.” Her mood was somber, something rare for Tara. “Have you looked at that land, Ty? I mean really looked at it and felt it?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He was puzzled.
“I have,” she went on, responding to her own question. “It makes me feel small—like I’m nothing. Well, I’m something,” she said with aggression.
“Of course you are.” Ty was faintly amused by her dramatics, even though he realized she was absolutely serious. “I only suggested that you come riding with me because I thought you’d enjoy the outing. But if you’d rather not go, that’s all right.”
“Ty.” The curtain was dropped as she pivoted to face him. She came to him, sliding her hands up the front of his shirt to rest on his chest. “Stay here this afternoon. You can look at those sites any old time. Today, you can stay with me instead.”
“Tara, I can’t.” There was a weariness in his voice. This was old ground. Given a chance, she’d find some excuse to keep him by her side every hour. “I have work to do. I can’t stay here and entertain you.”
“What am I supposed to do?” she challenged.
“Mother doesn’t have any trouble keeping busy.”
“Your mother has a house to run and friends to see.” She pushed away from him, hugging her arms in agitation. “All I have are these two rooms and a husband who is gone all the time. I don’t know why we can’t build our own house so I can have friends visit—and parties—and dinners.”
“Tara, we’ve been through this before.” His patience was wearing thin.
“I know. First you want to build this fancy feedlot of yours. Then, maybe, you might build your wife a house of her own,” There was anger behind her smiling look.
“Look, you’re the one who insisted on having a new house,” Ty reminded her tersely. “You weren’t satisfied to move into one of the empty houses here at the headquarters.”
“Ty, really. How would it look for a Calder to be living in some simple house like every other common ranch hand?” Tara challenged, impatient with a suggestion she found ludicrous. “That’s not good enough for you.”
“You mean that’s not good enough for you.”
“No, it isn’t. I am a somebody, and I’m not going to live like a nobody!” She was rigid before him, her head thrown back in defiance. He saw her like that for a mo
ment, needing the accoutrements of position and the recognition of social prominence. Then she crumpled and went into his arms, holding him tightly, “Ty, I didn’t mean for us to quarrel over this again. I can stand living in your father’s house, but I’m tired of seeing you stand in his shadow. I know how intelligent and capable you are, but you aren’t being given a chance to show anyone.”
“Tkra, that’s not true.” He held her. “The horse-breeding program, the proposed feedlot operation—they were my ideas. Dad has let me take charge of them. They are my responsibility.”
“I suppose they are.” She reluctantly gave in, a smile forced onto her lips. “Darling”—she stroked his jaw—“the governor is having a private dinner tonight. Daddy is flying to Helena later this afternoon to attend. Let’s go with him.”
“I can’t take off at the drop of a hat, Tara,” he told her, grim-mouthed under the mustache.
“Surely you can go just this once,” she coaxed with her most provocative smile. “It’s been ages since we’ve gone anywhere.”
“If you had said something sooner, I might have been able to arrange things so we could go. But this afternoon it isn’t possible.” There was a finality in his voice that didn’t encourage any further use of feminine wiles. She had used her beauty and her body on him too many times for Ty to let their persuasions alter his decision. Yet there was also the knowledge that this party was an occasion she badly wanted to attend. Her protests of boredom made him feel guilty and hard-pressed to deny her the excitement she craved. “You can go to the dinner with your father if you like,” he offered grudgingly.
“Do you mean it?”
He watched her eyes light up. “Yes.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Somehow he knew it was the start of something, the first of many trips she’d take without him, the first of many reasons she’d find to leave the ranch and go back to a more socially active life surrounded by so-called important people.
